Watch as the sun
Slowly slides over the horizon
Leaving behind a touch of
Pearly pinks, dusky purples
And vibrant hues of red
Ah there,
Battered dreams quickly wither
Darkness settles in,
The crystal envoys
Paint a portrait of
Pure serenity



Hope is reborn
Our destinies are within our
Reach as our dreams soon
Come to realization
It's a beautiful ambiance
And the solid gold
Paints over the Eastern side
And it's overwhelming beauty
Is welcomed by those
With expectations of
Bettering their present

I think
my
*heartbeats always tell lies
like all the time

they remind me,when
i'm sleeping
with my ear
close to my heart.

that i'm living.
still.
alive.
but the truth is,
that
actually
I'm not.

I
   am
                     dying
every
single

day
of            my LIFE

My hands,
Flightless birds with parchment skin,
marked with scars, glowing white.
They turn blue when the weather is cold.
The old wives say to look for men
with hard-working scars on their palms.
But what of a woman with marked hands?

I cant say it.
I am not brave enough yet.
To be brave is to do something your afraid to do.
I am afraid to say
I love you.
Only with the fear of loosing you.
Because I have been brave
before.
I have loved
before,
and I have lost
before.
I am not ready to be
brave just yet.

Where do I start?... Its taken me over fourty years to write this


Half a bottle of scotch taken each night to drown out the fears
the heartrending sights
Yeah half a bottle is just about right to dull the dreams and the nightmares that still linger
PTSD they call it this day, councelling given to help them get through
what they did see, things they did do
I remember clearly after such a time being told I wasn't a soldier I wasnt a man for being sick with fear, tears in my eyes at the bloodied remains close to my side.
Yeah well I was a soldier but not yet a man, at 19 my life had hardly begun but I still had to survive at the point of a gun
Yeah half a bottle of scotch is the crutch I have found because I'm still alive... Not just another name on a hole in the ground
thousands of miles from home.
Patrolling the paths in the in a land burnt and harsh not knowing what would come, the bullet the bomb or mayber the mine placed or shot by the oft unseen had
OK so I still did my bit in spreading the ****.... Yes I've had their blood on my hands but I still regret the things that I did in that harsh barren land.
Did I hate them? Those men who killed the ones I called friends. No they were only doing what they thought was right in protecting their home and their lands
Yeah so half a bottle of scotch is the friend I now have, it helps to stifle the dreams of the places I saw, the things that I saw and also the things that I did.

If such a lie this life impels:
in love is out of time,
inarticulate to tell
nor codify in rhyme
A symphony of Cupid's bow
drawn taught against desire
impossible to keep in tune
with Orpheus' lyre
Then breath the Logos through my being
speak of life and death and sin
I'll ask of love and closer lean
and hear it not again
Yet if it's true, there's naught above
that we cannot outlive in Love

..And in the dark cathedral you call your soul, your broken pieces have formed the most beautiful stained glass windows, i cant help but want to peer inside ...

I touched Your eyes,
in Your sleep.
But
the dream was
beyond my reach...